A Faceless Man

STATUS:
I will not celebrate mediocrity. I will not worship empty shells. I will not listen to worthless noises. I will not subject myself to selected predictable choices. I will not be bought or sold.
9 mos ago

Status

Recent Statuses

9 mos ago

Current
I will not celebrate mediocrity. I will not worship empty shells. I will not listen to worthless noises. I will not subject myself to selected predictable choices. I will not be bought or sold.

2 yrs ago

I've seen a person change his face like other's change their clothes.

2
likes

3 yrs ago

... The struggle between modeling, painting, writing, and creating... Oh what is a failure to do.

9
likes

3 yrs ago

Well... I think it might be time to start painting again...

3 yrs ago

Did you ever have so many hobbies you can't figure out what to do? Feeling uninspired...

I have returned. I am betting it is to no one's concern. Some of you may remember me but I've most likely failed to impact any particular individual to that extent. Quite frankly, it is my wheelhouse. I'm on the verge of eating a bullet, and I look for solace in the one thing that has - to a certain extent - always been there for me. That is writing. In no means is this a cry for help, although kind words or a simple conversation would be appreciated as my best friend is my four years old daughter. Beyond that, the coronavirus has consumed another relationship and nearly destroyed another household. Kudos American government for dropping the ball yet again. But enough of that dribble. I'm sure no one cares and quite frankly, it's monotonous dribble with little literary or entertainment value.

So what am I in search of upon this return? Most importantly, to remove the rust from these knuckles and hone the skills that were once as sharp as a Masamune blade. I suppose in turn I would eventually like to return to actually working on a novel of some sort or at least trying to finish that which I have left in the editing stage for nearly eight years now. My plan to accomplish this feat is simple and it is something you all could help me with. I typically prefer medieval fantasy (Dragonlance/ Forgotten Realms) and the like, so if anyone is aware of some threads with similar characteristics, please point the finger. As it were, I would not mind partaking in anything at this point simply to get the gears turning.

This particularly lackluster introduction has become too tedious to continue. I'll bore you all no further. Kudos on the implementation of the improved spellcheck feature. It is quite impressive.

The Cherafir River was running lower than usual for this time of the year. The water had dipped well beneath the hard packed embankments that had marked the typical shoreline. The river bed was quite visible despite the strong current that carried the debris of the most recent storm south to the sea. Flat stones worn away by the natural current and time hid beneath the waters’ tumultuous surface. The water had dipped so low that even the peaks of the larger rocks that typically did not breach the water’s surface now remained dry. It seemed very different than Xander remembered.

The sun had positioned itself midway between the horizon and the highest point it would reach in the sky that day. The morning dew had not yet been consumed by the swiftly rising temperature. But the air was stifling, thick and weighed down as if the land was trying to take in the air all at once. There was not a single cloud in the sky that morning. Merely the blazing sun smiling at the travelers as they passed beneath the warmth of its glorious kiss. The day, this day in particular would be unforgiving to those weary travelers too stubborn to know their own limitations. But Xander had no time to waste.

It was true, he had gained a new acquaintance in such a short time Xander could not help but feel a nagging string being pulled in the back of his mind. Had he gained a burden? Had he gained a risk? In this, the start to his party had gained an ally or even a friend? Presuming what Rio had shared was in fact true, Xander was taking a mighty big risk in traveling with him. What choice did he have? At this point, traveling alone would not only be painstakingly boring but potentially deadly. For the first time in his life, Xander had to weigh the difficult decision of controlling the risk while accepting the benefits. Was this growing up?

Regardless of his state of mind or the condition of his environment, Xander had acquired his bearing. The river or if the current state of things kept compounding the river bed, would guide them. The side of the river bed that bordered the forest was littered with animals imbibing the remnants of the river that had so amply provided for the land in the cool months. Hunting would be sparse for these inhabitants, the first meandering downstream as the waters continued to recede. This would equally suggest that migration patterns would certainly be changing as well, following the water-fed grass and the predatory beasts following their prey.

“It’ll be midday soon,” Xander said looking up towards the rising sun.

The young man had allowed Rio to take the lead, if only by a few paces. He was trying, that much was true. However, Xander did not yet fully trust the alleged shapeshifter. Perhaps that would soon change. Night would be upon them soon enough. He would have to learn to trust someone and given the current situation Rio would be a most advantageous choice. Perhaps it was a poor choice for Xander to strike out on his own with this endeavour. A small town boy with little experience of the outside world and while perhaps the least of those he knew, still xenophobic.

”Maybe it’d be best if we find some shade? Make camp before it gets too hot?” Xander inquired looking ahead toward his companion.

Space was not an issue. It was merely a decision of location. Xander had brought a small bedroll with him, but it was thin - certainly not enough to share. Nor did it provide enough material to create an adequate sized oasis from the sun for two. The western side of the river was littered with sparse collections of trees and a few larger boulders that might provide the desired amount of shade. Of course, the eastern bank of the river would be more preferable if protection from the sun was the only measure. However, the closer to the wood they traveled the more danger they would inherent. The darkness seemed to thrive in the shadows or so the childhood stories had suggested.

The tile rooftops of the Talos District entertained Enathrae for only a short while. The soft soles of his specially crafted leather boots easily bending over the curvature of the clay tiles, allowing him to remain steadfast in his pace. The urban setting soon surrendered to the arboreal furnishings of the arboretum that grew to the west of the city proper. Trees taller than most of the buildings in the city grew in a close-knit collective perhaps no more than a few square miles. While the surface was groomed with paths and well taken care of topiaries, the trees grew together as if stretching out for the haunting touch of like beings. It made the perfect path. The Dunmer leaped from one branch to the next, his trail marked only by the fluttering leaves and the scattering birds. Soon, he would stop.

High noon had crested over the few spires for the College of Whispers, their shadows only nigh existent with the sun so very high above. The pale bricks made in an age that had long since been forgotten had shone brightly, unhindered until the shadows slowly consumed them. The windows that were once open to the world around them were now shut, locked. The scents of alchemical concoctions and newly casted spells had become an afterthought ingrained into the now tattered tapestries. Despite the illuminating sun, the College seemed dark. The campus grounds once teeming with life were not speckled with but a few dim shadows wandering from one task to the next.

Enathrae descended from the branches. Soft were the steps of his feet as he hit the cobblestone walkway that encircled the academy. His steps were silent as he crept toward what appeared to be the main entranceway. A grim, ebony door ripe with age that had seen more greatness pass through its archway than the Hall of Valor. Yet, there was something strange about that door. As the gleam of the sun passed through the trees, painting the building in a vibrant glow the door remained enshrouded in shadow. An ominous cloud lingered over the portcullis, reverberating with magical energies across the strings of the aether like the strings of the lute heard in the distance.

“What business… do you… have here,” inquired a soft voice?"

The voice was but the remnants of a whisper. A gentle annoyance carried on the breeze. Or the faded memory of words passed echoing through the trees of the arboretum. Yet while the words seemingly came from a distance, Enathrae felt a contradictory notion. Was the voice real? Did it exist amongst the environment, emanating from some terrestrial being?

“What BUSINESS… do YOU… have here?”

No. It was a distant voice, but Enathrae knew it was closer than its creator had hoped he would. The voice was whispering from the depths of his mind, a place well beyond his typical excursions and a place that was quite easily accessible by the nominal power of this place, the College of Whispers. The Dunmer extended his arms, stretching his fingers as if attempting to feel his way through the power of the aether that carried the Magicka being used against him.

Enathrae’s fingers began to curl as if tickling the ivories on a piano. His hands twitched as if resisting the pull of some unforeseeable grasp, pulling him towards the door. Closer and closer the Dunmer stumbled as he tried to resist the force. But this unseen extraterrestrial force was powerful, more powerful than Enathrae had the pleasure of ever encountering before. His soft-soled leather shoes were not designed to provide the traction required to resist his unseen captor.

The gravel stirred beneath his feet, disturbed by his struggle. But the dust did not come from his steps. Sand and dirt stirred in the recesses between the stones that made up the cobblestone walk. It danced and swirled into tiny cyclones that were pulled toward the Dunmer, yet further away gathering before the doorway enshrouded in shadow. The sand coalesced into the shape of a single humanoid being its arm outstretched as if to grasp the mer.

But Enathrae was cognisant. His struggle was just as much mental as it was physical. However, he was trained. He was trained in the art of acting and reacting to arcane interference with his plans. He did not fall slack to make the magician work harder. He did not fight back to tighten its encumbrance. Enathrae moved swiftly, jerking his arms in a circular motion to exploit the lag Magicka experienced when combating the physical.

As the Dark Elf pulled free from the magician’s grasp, Enathrae deflected the now formed arm. A robed arm at that, clad in dirty grey cloth that was now thrown out wide. But the creature’s body did not budge. With a wide defensive opening, Enathrae thrust his offensive arm forward, his palm turned up. The strong and sturdy heel of his palm snapped outward like a flash of lightning.

“A test…”

Enathrae’s hand trembled as it met the resistance of what felt like a stone wall. The tremor that followed the sting of pain sent a shiver down his spine. His mind was drawn blank with what followed. With the force of Volendrung smashing into his chest, the Dunmer was thrown backward. His arms and legs thrown forward by the force of his abdomen hurling back, away from the enshrouded door. The air pulled from his lungs was replaced with the burning sensation of suffocation until his ass hit the cobblestone. His head rolled backward alongside his arms as he tried to protect his vital points from the impact. Rolling backwards the Dunmer tumbled down the few stairs that lead up to the platform where the College sat.

With his arm hidden beneath his cloak, the adolescent turned a stern eye towards the shapeshifter. He was not mad, but merely uncomfortable discussing such matters even privately. If anyone had known of his plight they would certainly respond with hostility. All of the possibilities had played out in his head. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he had thought about the ramifications of his desire to act so brazen and caste away his covers. He was not fond of deception, nor was he entirely good at it. The resulting decision would be solitude. He would ostracize himself away from prying eyes, remaining alone - at least, for the most part.

“It doesn’t hurt at all. It feels normal....ish,” Xander turned towards the door to meander down to the common room. “Just have to keep a little more room on my side is all.”

Xander moved through the doorway, specifically walking very close to the jam. His arm swung back and his torso jerked as the bony protrusions on his arm ricocheted off the wood. They left noticeable dents; however, the damage on the wooden frame was nothing more than aesthetic. His gate quickly shifted to one of youthful exuberance, with a sullen teenage underscore. Happiness and glee would not breach this boy’s sour visage.

Xander’s head jerked forward. His cheeks puffed out as he tried to keep the food he was chewing locked behind his lips. A pale fist pounded his chest as he tried to regain his breath, and dislodge the food that had been caught by his surprise. His eyes wide Xander coughed over his plate of breakfast delights.

“Are you crazy!” Xander choked out perhaps a little too loud to not draw attention before returning to panting whisper while he tried to catch his breath, “Are you crazy, Rio?"

The young man leaned in closely, “you can’t talk like that in here… in any where… in front of people… I mean.” Xander whispered trying to remain inconspicuous. He finished up the last of his meal. “I’m going to wait outside. You join me in a bit, when you’re ready.”

Xander pushed himself from the table and placed his spoon upside down on his plate. The universal sign for a finished meal. A few coins were placed on the table beside it and he slowly meandered away. His head darted to and fro as is admiring the owner’s choice of decorum, but it still looked rather queer. He was anything best inconspicuous. Perhaps odd, but relatively unnoticed nevertheless.

On the outside the air was crisp. The grass still visibly moist with the morning dew as reflected by the swiftly rising sun. Xander found a spot on the porch, overlooking the well worn thoroughfare that lead north along the river. There were already a couple of folks making their own journeys. With his one good arm the boy ran his hand through the flat black of his hair.

“We’ll head north.” He spoke to himself, turning to look at the door to await his partners arrival.

Xander contemplated Rohaan’s words. The dirtiest, most nasty thief within the confines of Errandil. He considered what he had been taught in his small hamlet. It was not comparable to the education one might have received in the capital of Orthreloth or even one of the larger towns. However, he had known a little bit about the world. Perhaps not the particulars of individuals and their reputations but at least the more common understandings of that world. At least regionally, the Men in Cloaks were the most notorious in the Kingdom. But they rarely traveled far beyond the capital’s walls. When they did it was merely to entertain the criminal element in another larger city. What fun could a thief have in a hamlet? More oddly, what fun could a notorious thief have on the road? Xander could not figure out such a concept. For he had not the experience of a more well traveled adventurer.

Xander contemplated Rohaan’s words. The stories of shapeshifters were not so far from the unknown, at least in the folklore. Devourers of the lost and weary, stealers of naughty children, the haunters of a land when scavenging the dead. It was often told that Shapeshifters would often prowl the remnants of battlefields, the belief was that they were better able to relate to the dead and dying than the civilized beings of higher society. If the presumption was still held that this was the case, why would Xander still be alive? He had nothing to offer. He would not allow himself to believe his mission was a pipe dream, but reality would have to set in if some advancement was not made quickly. At the very least he was still a child, and had the attention span of such. He needed progress and regardless of what Rohaan would tell him, true or otherwise the man had offered his assistance and he would take it with Sarah in mind.

The young boy, with his arm still concealed stepped towards his door. It would not be unbelievable to think that if Rohaan was indeed the thief he had proclaimed to be that he could pick a lock without leaving a trace and subsequently lock the door. But to Xander it was not futile to check. The young boy examined the lock in the bright light of the morning sun shining through the window behind his new partner. It was locked to say the least with no exterior proof of its tampering. The boy unlocked it and checked the opposite end when he opened the door. It too was clean.

”Impressive… Xander whispered before turning around to address Rohaan openly. “We are tainted by one and the same.”

The young man abruptly unveiled his left arm, the cloth of the cloak hanging limply from his elbow. A quick shake and the cloak broke free from the abnormality with a small tear. What he had presented was an arm no longer than his other. But it was markedly different. What appeared to be an armor moved with the fluidity of flesh, the dark exoskeleton like scales haunted by hints of a crimson flow pulsing beneath the flesh of the underside of his forearm. Xander maneuvered his arm in a manner that would allow Rohaan to appreciate the design of the exterior armored spikes without any apparent loss of dexterity

”If you are a shapeshifter, Yggdrasil has cursed us both. But at least you seem to have a grasp on yours.

Xander turned away from the shapeshifter, concealing his arm beneath his and meandered down to the common room a head of the man. He wouldn’t protest a nice breakfast before moving on but he certainly had been in a better mood last night.

A man wishes to not be so formal, but I see an issue that I think we should address publically mainly because I would like to see where everyone stands without having to hunt through the Discord chat. With regards to these collaborations, why are afraid to write for non player characters that other people introduce? More to the point <description of eyes?> Why should we not just describe the eyes? Sure, Chrononaut might have a specific idea but this is collaborative writing, not just on the etherpad but on the forum in general. Should we not feel free to elaborate where others have left details out?

From the shores of the Cherafir River, which runs the forest’s western edge it appears nothing but the scene of a beautiful painting full of life and enshrouded in shadow. In essence, that is exactly what it is. Old growth timber, perhaps not the oldest in the land but certainly sustained nevertheless. It is home to babbling brooks, rolling streams, poorly worn game trails, and perfect for an exhausting hike to the other side with relative ease. Predator and prey function as they do everywhere boasting coyotes, smaller bear species, the occasional nightblood and a slew of other forest predatory species to combat the populations of rabbits, squirrels, and deer.

This temperate forest is quite common throughout Errandil with the trees being primarily deciduous, characterized by tall, broad-leafed, hardwood trees that shed brilliantly colored leaves each fall. These forests experience varied temperatures and four seasons, although winters in this area do not often bring below freezing temperatures but the summer does bring higher heat and humidity. Rainfall also varies, averaging 30 to 60 inches annually, allowing for soils that are well developed and rich in organic matter. They also provide habitat for a wide variety of smaller mammal species, including squirrels, raccoons, deer, coyotes and black bear and many bird species, including woodpeckers, owls, and hawks.

Animal products are in fact some of the most prominent exploits from those who choose to forage in these woods. Animal bones make perfect arrow shafts, their pelts for various clothing options and of course their meat for sustenance. Of course, for the vegetarian aspects of one’s diet some fruits, vegetables, and spices are able to be found here as well. It is the typical picture-esque profile of a forest ecosystem.

However, moreso amongst the Glandrathar Forest than any other is the density of the population of the true forest or wild elves. It is true that elves do exist beyond the borders of any wood but it is quite rare. The Glandrathar wild elves protect the wood as with any other woodland realm, if only more lackadaisical. That is to say, they will allow outsiders to enter the forest and partake in the woods bounty; but abuse of that ability is when the wild elves will enforce their version of justice upon the guilty. Their villages are not seen to directly alter the environment, but their presence is often noted when large hunting parties or gatherings of what they as hostiles move through the forest.